


Sansa's Sworn Shield

by kittykatknits



Series: Pluck a Red Rose Blowin [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Not a Poldark AU, Poldarkish, R plus L equals J, Rickon is an anti, Robb Ships It, Smut, The Starklings Are Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: “You could play come into my castle with her, she likes that game,” Rickon offered helpfully.----------Jon desperately wants an evening alone with his wife. Unfortunately, Rickon is determined to protect his dear sister from Jon's less than honorable intentions. Challenged to yet another duel, and running out of champions, Jon decides to find another way to solve his problems so he can finally come into Sansa's castle.





	Sansa's Sworn Shield

**Author's Note:**

> This story was not originally planned to be a part of this series but I've had so many comments on Rickon this needed to be written. It has no comparisons to anything in the show or books but does take place in the same universe. My head canon is that Rickon is 5-6 here based upon events that have not been written yet.

Jon could still remember the day he returned home from the war, Robb by his side as they rode north towards Winterfell. In the days since, he still recalled his first glimpse of Sansa. She had stood on the walls of Winterfell, her hair down, the red strands lifted and tossed about by the rough winds. Jon could not see any other features, the color of her cloak or gown, or even who stood with her. But, his wife had made sure he knew it was her that watched as he drew ever closer. Now, if you were to ask him what home meant, Jon would not think of the godswood or the training yards, or even his childhood rooms. His image of home would forever be defined by that shock of red he spied up on the walls.

The war was done, yet Jon’s days were still a flurry of activity and duty. The riverlands were a part of the northern kingdom and he suspected the Vale would soon follow.  The creation of a mint had begun, roads needed to be rebuilt, and settlement within the New Gift to start. Sansa was determined to make the winter town a permanent city, hoping to create another center of trade in the north. She had also launched a number of charitable efforts to provide assistance to the women and children left widowed or orphaned during the war.

The nights were for them, the chance to sit by the fire before he took her to bed, desperate to make up for the time they had been parted so soon after speaking their vows by the heart tree. This particular night was no different.

Jon had begun to kiss up her thigh, drawing up her night rail as he did so, when he felt Sansa’s gentle kick at his sides. He gave a self-satisfied grin, feeling a bit of pride over the pleasure his wife so dearly loved. The grin quickly disappeared as her kicks grew in furor and her feet dug  into his stomach.

Sansa hissed out his name which was quickly followed by a young boy’s whine. “I had another nightmare.”

Jon sighed and pulled himself up to peek out from the furs. As he feared, Rickon stood by the side of their bed, clad in his night clothes, Shaggydog still by the door.

The boy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What are you doing to my sister?”

Jon scratched at his beard, unsure how to explain when Sansa spoke for him. “He was looking for a book I lost earlier today.”

He thought that a rather poor excuse but Rickon seemed to accept it well enough. He also suspected Rickon’s entrance to their bedchamber meant an end to his hopes for the evening. “You need to return to your bed.”

Jon may as well have been absent from the room for all the impact of his words. His young cousin ignored him, placing his head against Sansa’s shoulder. “I dreamt I was in the crypts again,” he whispered.

He was fairly certain that was a lie, the young boy had been put to bed less than an hour ago, barely enough time to experience much of anything.

“It can be frightening but you are here safe with us,” said Sansa soothingly. Apparently she believed the lying boy.

“I don’t want to be alone, Sansa. Can I stay here with you?” Rickon’s face almost glowed with the sincere innocence of a child. It was all for show, Jon would swear to it.

Sansa pulled herself up to embrace Rickon. “Of course you can, come on my little wolf.”

Jon stared at the two of them in befuddlement, he’d had plans for the evening. “Sansa…” he pleaded.

“It’s only for the night, Jon. Nightmares can be be frightening to young children.” She helped Rickon climb onto the bed.

Jon looked on, helpless, as Rickon moved to lie between the two of them. As he did so, the boy flashed him a wolfish grin, his teeth practically bared. Jon grimaced back at him, quietly grumbling to himself.

“My love?” Sansa asked.

“Let’s go to sleep, it’s grown late.” Inwardly, all Jon could think on is that he had not even had a chance to take off his breeches and there was little enough need for it now. He extinguished the lantern near their bed and laid down, turning away from both of them.

Jon felt a kick to his back. “Ow,” he yelped.

“Sorry, Jon.” Another kick.

He ignored that one. And the one that came after it. Jon settled down, resigned to a fitful night’s rest.

The next morning, he waited until Rickon had departed and Sansa’s maid had finished helping her to dress.

“It was deliberate, you do know that?”

Sansa looked at him in confusion.

“Rickon. He came in here for your attention.” Of all the Starks, his younger cousin had been the only one to express displeasure at his marriage to their sister. Robb had encouraged the match. Bran had given him a book of poetry to read to Sansa that Jon still meant to look at one day. The morning they were wed, Rickon had challenged him to a duel in order to protect his beloved sister’s honor. Arya had stepped in but it had not been the last time Rickon had felt bound to protect Sansa from her lecherous bastard cousin.

His wife walked towards him, taking one of his hands in her own, no doubt to try and placate him. “He was so young when we lost our parents, I don’t think he understood what happened as well as the rest of us do.”

Jon pulled her close in an embrace. He could smell the lemon scent on her skin and the subtle mix of rose and herbs in her hair. “Aye, I know that well enough. He blames me for taking you away.” Rickon may not understand it, but it was one of the reasons they maintained their residence in Winterfell, why he had kept his position as Hand. After all that had happened, neither of them could bear parting from their family and Jon knew Rickon, especially, needed the care Sansa provided.

“He worries my love for you lessens my love for him.” Sansa feathered a kiss against his lips.

“Aye, I know that too. I should hope he understands your love for me is different than the one you feel for him.” Jon moved his hands to lightly cup her face, one finger stroking her jaw, as he spoke.

Sansa began to laugh at his answer before he returned her kiss, this one more passionate, a hint at his hopes for that evening. “Tonight,” he promised.

They left their bed chamber and parted ways after dining in the great hall with the rest of the household, each to their respective duties. Jon caught glimpses of both Rickon and Sansa in the courtyards from a distance but had no opportunity to speak to either. He chuckled to himself upon realizing the boy had a wooden sword with him, apparently assigning himself the role of Sansa’s sworn shield. Jon did not dare ask how Rickon intended to protect his sister from the evils of the world, it would only lead to Shaggydog at his throat.

It was during supper in the great hall that his next confrontation with Rickon took place. By custom, Jon should have been seated to the right of Robb, as both the second most powerful man in the kinds and husband to Sansa. Instead, Rickon sat in his chair, legs not yet long enough to touch the floor, the wooden sword still on him.

Jon could see the remainder of their family approaching and steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation. “Rickon, will you move? I would like to take my place for supper.”  He had spoken evenly, yet Jon felt a petulant child.

He could hear the snickers and muffled laughter from Robb, Jeyne, and others around him.

Rickon ignored his request. “Sansa, would you care to dine with me tonight?”

The snickers had grown to loud bellows. The tips of his ears were turning red.

He tried again. “Rickon, will you move, please?”  The impatience was much less hidden this time.

Rickon gave him a flat look, as if he was talking to a lackwit. “You can sit there,” he said, pointing toward the back of the hall. “The benches are empty.”

Jon looked to where his cousin indicated, it was where the lowest ranking members of the household sat. There also happened to be no empty benches.

He felt a slap on his back. “You best move, Snow. Your lady has a new suitor,” Robb somehow managed to say in between his laughter.

Sansa glance at him sympathetically before squeezing his hand and arranging for another chair to be brought in so Rickon could move. Jon took his place, feeling a sulk coming upon him.

“He only behaves as he does because he worries you’ll take Sansa away.”

Jon set down his cup of ale, looking towards Robb. “It has grown worse since we returned.”

“He barely remembers our parents, you know that. Have you tried talking to him?”

He blinked in surprise. “No, I’d hoped he would eventually grow accustomed to my presence.” Jon had not considered the idea at all, in truth. He had left Rickon’s care entirely to Sansa, all of them had.

Robb gave a quick pat to his forearm. “Perhaps you should do so.”

That night, they were once more interrupted as Jon began to untie his breeches. Later, as he felt Rickon kick his back, Robb’s words returned to him.

It was the next afternoon in the training yard, as Jon wiped the sweat from his brow, that he realized his cousin had indeed given him wise council.

Rickon stood before him, clasping the hilt of a two-handed great sword, its steel blade resting in the dirt and stone of the training yard. Jon winced at that, one of the first lessons they had all been taught was proper care of weaponry.

“I know what you were trying to do to my sister last night,” Rickon belted out.

The training yard quickly grew quiet, conversation and murmurs from the nearby castle guard and servants ceasing abruptly. Robb stood next to him, eyes grown large from embarrassment.

“Do you wish me to act as champion this time?”

Jon huffed. “I think you had the right of it.”

He moved quickly, wresting the hilt from Rickon’s grasp and kicking the blade away, out of his reach. He got down, resting on his haunches. “Never draw live steel unless you mean to use it.”

Jon considered asking Rickon to accompany him away from the ears and eyes that surrounded them before thinking better of it. He stood up, tossing the boy over his shoulder like a sack of flour, ignoring the small fists against his back. “It’s past time we had a chat.”

He glimpsed Robb crossing his arms and shaking his head in amusement before stepping through the iron gate into the godswood, not stopping until they reached the heart tree. Jon put his young charge back on his own small feet before resting his hand against the carved face, the old gods would be listening to his words this day.

“Rickon, do you understand what it means to speak in front of a heart tree?”

He stared back at him suspiciously. “The gods can hear us talking.”

Jon sat against the base of the old white tree, his elbow resting on a nearby root. “It is a great sin to lie in front of the gods. I brought us here so you would know every word I utter is the truth.”

Rickon sat on another tree root, as far from Jon as he could get. At least the boy made no attempt at escape. “Why were you trying to hurt my sister? She loves everyone, even you."

“I love Sansa dearly, Rickon. She is my life.” Jon considered his words. He’d sooner leave any explanation on the making of children to Sansa. “Last night, your sister’s cries were from pleasure. She enjoys my...attentions.”

“You could play come into my castle with her, she likes that game,” Rickon offered helpfully.

Jon gulped, he came into her castle on a nightly basis. “Yes, she tells me of the adventures you two have together.”

“You could come with us next time. Sansa would like that better than what you were doing to her, I know she would. She calls me her little wolf. She just calls you Jon.”

Sansa called him a great many things when they were abed together. “Has your sister told you we are trying to have a babe of our own?”

Rickon seemed to shrink in on himself, the air of challenge leaving his face. Jon had found the source of his cousin’s recent behavior. “Sansa and I wish to have a family, Rickon. She will make a wonderful mother.”

“She’s already a mother and we are her family,” he whispered, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

“Aye, and she will always love you, that will never change. I swear it.” Jon indicated the face above him. “You know I speak the truth. I love you as well, Rickon. Did you know Sansa and I decided to maintain our residence here at Winterfell rather than Dragonstone? Neither of us could bear to part from you.” They could not bare to part from any of the Stark siblings. Jon may have been their cousin, but he considered them his brothers and sisters even so.

Rickon wiped at his eyes. “Robb says he wants to hear children laughing in Winterfell, that it was like that when you were little.”

Little Brynden was Robb’s son and heir, with his father’s hair and eyes and the long, solemn Stark face. He was already showing the fierce wolf blood the Starks were known for.

“You will be an uncle when our child comes, Rickon. Do you know what that means?”

His cousin only shook his head. Jon grieved for him. Benjen seldom made the journey from the wall since his brother died. Their uncle Brandon had been killed in King’s Landing before any of them were born. Jory Cassel as well. “Uncles teach their nephews to fight and how to use a sword and bow. They teach them how to hunt and offer the protections of their direwolves. They show their nieces what a good man is like. You’ll have a very important role in the life of our children, Rickon. Sansa will need you very much.”

“I could let them play with Shaggy,” he said in offering.

Jon shivered inwardly at that. Rickon’s wolf was the most feral and least trained of them all. “You will be as great an uncle as your father was to me, Rickon. I loved him dearly.”

“I don’t remember my father.”

“He was a great man, Robb and I aspire to be as good as he was every day.” Jon did not suffer under any illusion that a single conversation would resolve all issues between the two of them, but it was a start. “Would you like to spend the afternoon practicing the bow with me?”

He took Rickon’s excited nod as agreement and led him away towards the outer courtyard, where members of the castle guard practiced. Jon had meant to spend the time until supper seeing to correspondence on the new mint but that could be done the next day. More than once, he spied a shock of red on the bridge between the armory and great keep. His home.

“I saw you speaking with Rickon.”

“Aye, we spent some time in the godswood.” They were alone in their bedchamber, preparing to retire. Jon had made sure to bar the door to any visitors this night. His plans had been forestalled twice over, he would not allow a third.

Sansa sat at her dressing table, removing her jewelry and hair clips. “What did he tell you?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

Jon began removing his boots and sword belt. “He wanted to know what his duty as an uncle would be. I believe he worries his place with you will be usurped one day.” He did not mention her father.

“Did you tell him his worry was misplaced?

“Of course.”

“Is that all?”

Jon smirked. “He suggested we play a game of come into your castle.”

Sansa stood and put her arms around him. “My walls are strong, ser.”

“I’ll make use of my battering ram.” He stroked her hair, hand at her waist, and leaned in for a kiss. He could taste the spiced wine still on her.

He kissed a trail of soft kisses up her jaw to the lobe of her ear and just behind, to that spot that always drew a shiver from her. Jon smiled against the softness of her skin at the low hum of pleasure she gave. “Bed,” he ordered. It had been three days, his patience was at an end.

They moved together, their lips joined, somehow managing to remove the last traces of their clothing and climbing on to the bed together.

“Do you not wish to hear my terms of surrender?”

Jon spread her legs to move between them. “No quarter will be given, my lady.”

He kissed up her left thigh until he reached her center, pausing to enjoy her legs wrapped around his neck. He began to lick and suck at her in the way he knew she loved, reveling in the feel of her hands in his hair, pulling at it as she lost herself in pleasure. He kept at it, until her moans turned to gasps and high-pitched wails. Jon gave several more licks, gently bringing her down and back to him.

He moved up her body, quickly impaling himself within her. Sansa’s breath hitched before she leaned up to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips. Jon gave a gentle roll of his hips against her before she circled them with her legs, bringing them closer. He moved slowly, wanting to savor every wet sound and slick glide, the gentle pressure of her legs pushing him on and the growing pink flush along her neck and chest.

“Jon, please,” she begged, her fingers scraping from his shoulders down to the small of his back. A small part of Jon wondered if he would have marks the next day. He dearly hoped so.

He began to increase his pace, losing himself in their shared frenzy of pleasure, his movements growing in speed in urgency. Sansa began keening into his ear and he felt the muscles of her cunt around him. Jon lost himself, roaring out his pleasure as he spilled his seed.

Jon kept his weight on his forearms, as he gave her another kiss. “We should have,” he murmured against her cheek.

“We should have,” she echoed.

Jon moved to lay next to her, pulling her to him and spreading her hair across his chest. He loved the silken feel of it against his skin. “Did I tell you Rickon says you call him your little wolf but I’m ‘just Jon’?”

He could feel the warm breath of her laughter against his still damp skin. “I dearly hope you did not disabuse him of this belief.”

“Be assured I did not.”

They lay together for sometime, talking intimately in the way couples do, when a knock could be heard on their chamber door.

Jon sighed, getting up. He picked up his breeches and began to pull them on, pausing only to toss Sansa her night rail.

He opened the door to see a tired and scared little boy in the hall. “Did you have another nightmare, Rickon?”

The only answer given was a nod of the head.

“Come on then, you can sleep with us.” He picked Rickon up and brought him back to their bed.

Jon extinguished the candles left burning before pulling the furs back, preparing himself for another night of kicks to the back. Instead, Rickon lay against him and promptly fell into a deep slumber.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come see the [ romance novel cover of Jonsa as Ross and Demelza. ](http://kittykatknits.tumblr.com/post/161931308592/sardoniyx-jonsa-au-poldark-i-dont-watch-the) It's stunning.


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